


The Winter Festival

by nonelvis



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: F/M, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 01:10:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13671132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonelvis/pseuds/nonelvis
Summary: “‘Winter Festival’?” Kat said as they neared a long white tent that stretched between the trees and ran far further down the street than they could see. Cheerful, laughing people carrying brightly colored boxes and stuffed prizes were milling around the entrance. “Is that ... is that a carnival?”





	The Winter Festival

**Author's Note:**

> Written for cool-veggiesword, who requested Lorca/Cornwell and added, "There's enough angst out there (I'm lying but never mind) so I'd love some fluffy romantic flashback-y moments from before the Buran."
> 
> Many thanks to lizbee for beta work. Also, I totally stole her convention of naming starships after female scientists.

Eighteen hours of shore leave left to go. Eighteen hours until Kat Cornwell and the _Shirley Ann Jackson_ arrived to take Gabriel to his first command on the _Buran_. Eighteen hours to spend, somehow, on Ventrakis IV, an overly cheerful location he’d picked at random, where every important communication arrived in a neatly wrapped box decorated based on a metaphorical language that put Victorian letter-writers to shame. Eighteen hours he was seriously considering spending holed up in his stark gray hotel room reading crew manifests and archived captain’s logs.

He had enjoyed the previous fifty-four hours despite himself and Starfleet’s obnoxious insistence that he rest up, however briefly, before his first command. But eighteen hours was close enough to twelve, which was close enough to half that, which was close enough to the moment when Kat was supposed to swoop out of the sky and scoop him up for his rendezvous with the _Buran._ Barely enough time for dinner, really, especially at one of Ventrakis’ finest restaurants, where the outdoor seating was cocooned in a containment field protecting diners from the snow squalls outside. 

Above the shimmering dome, flakes swirled and cascaded from the sky, billows of tiny white moths. Gabriel was absorbed in watching them evaporate against the dome’s edge when Kat was shown to his table.

He so rarely got to see her in civilian clothes that he’d almost forgotten she owned them, but here she was in a knitted charcoal sweater and dark brown trousers and boots instead of her dress blues, like a regular human being instead of ... well, whatever she was to him inside and outside of Starfleet.

“Sorry I’m late. Weather’s interfering a little with the transporters.”

“I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow anyway.”

“I thought I’d surprise you. That’s not easy to do.” Kat reached for the burgundy Gabriel had ordered for himself and poured it into a glass she commandeered from an empty table beside them. “We got here a few days early, so I’ve been giving the crew shore leave in shifts.”

Gabriel stirred his _sklhh’t._ The pasta was oxidizing into a deep purple, and it was best at its proper shade of midnight blue. “And how long are you taking? Three, four hours?”

Kat sipped at her wine. “Eight.”

“Eight whole hours? You’re slacking off, Kat.”

“I’m entitled every now and then. So are you, no matter what you might think.”

“Nothing says ‘get out there and enjoy yourself’ like an official order.” He twirled a forkful of noodles, slurped them down in one bite. “You want some? I think I got the last plate of _sklhh’t,_ but they told me the _aklhh’t_ is spectacular.”

“Ate before I beamed down, but thanks.” She swirled the wine into deep purple whorls that matched the _sklhh’t_ and left crimson legs streaking down the bowl of her glass. “Didn’t want to waste time.”

Always the planner, Kat. Well, that made two of them. “So what you’re saying is I should skip dessert.”

“Nah,” Kat replied. “Get it to go.”

* * *

He’d once tried to hold her hand on a walk back in San Francisco and had found himself on the receiving end of a look that suggested handholding was for children and/or small pets learning party tricks. Besides, with the two of them bundled in Starfleet’s finest regulation parkas and thermal gloves, they’d be lucky to recognize each other as humans on the street, much less people with extremities that could be intertwined for mutual comfort.

Still, the storm had finally slowed down from a torrent to a few lazy flakes, and the walk to the hotel passed through a boulevard flanked by snow-frosted trees, their limbs glowing in the streetlight like candelabras. Gabriel and Kat walked together in silence, close enough to bump shoulders and share a sheepish smile when they did. 

“‘Winter Festival’?” Kat said as they neared a long white tent that stretched between the trees and ran far further down the street than they could see. Cheerful, laughing people carrying brightly colored boxes and stuffed prizes were milling around the entrance. “Is that ... is that a carnival?”

“Looks like it.”

“Come on, we’re going in.” She tugged at his arm and gently pushed him towards the tent. “I don’t think they can fit a Ferris wheel in there, but I’m not leaving without whatever passes for cotton candy around here and a really stupid prize.”

“Since when are you such a carnival fan? Hidden depths, Captain Cornwell.”

He could practically hear the eyeroll she gave him. “Ever since I was a little girl. You grow up out in farm country, the state and county fairs are a big deal. Next time we’re back home, I’ll take you. Space is majestic and wonderful, but so is something deep-fried on a stick.”

“How can I argue with that?”

“You can’t. And you won’t. Now, let’s go play some rigged games. I’m going to win a teddy bear so big it’s going to have to beam up on its own.”

* * *

“I want you to know that this is why I joined Starfleet,” Gabriel said. “Not the thrill of exploration. Not the military force to keep the Federation safe from whatever threats it faces. No, I’m in it to lasso space cows.”

“Look, do you want a prize or not?”

“I’m a fully grown adult perfectly capable of winning my own prizes,” Gabriel said, eyeing the green cow face scowling at him from center left. Its horns looked like they were pointed upwards, but carnival games always lied. Probably there was some optical illusion rendering only one horn a plausible target, while the other would slide his rope loop straight to the ground. He shifted from side to side to examine the horns from multiple angles, and watched his rope bounce off the horn he’d chosen. “Okay,” he said, “I’m a fully grown adult _probably_ capable of winning my own prizes.”

Kat had a difficult face to read – the well-practiced result of training in her profession – but Gabriel knew her well enough to recognize the light crinkles at the corners of her eyes and the curve at the left side of her lip that meant he’d amused her despite herself. That was how it had always been with them: a needle from him, a jab in return; a show of prickly thorns in advance.

Kat turned to the wall of cartoon cow heads, squinted, tossed her last rope loop high in the air, and snared a striped horn halfway up the wall. “Got it! Your turn, Gabriel. If you can.”

Fine, then; a shot in the dark if logic wasn’t going to win him anything. He half-heartedly aimed for the pink cow head above the green one he’d focused on before and watched his loop slip off to land on the green horn below. “Never underestimate me, Kat.”

“I wouldn’t think of it.”

The game operator held up a tray of boxes, blue cubes with a trim gold ribbon quartering each box. “You are not from Ventrakis, no? Blue box for surprise,” he said, “and gold for good fortune.”

“Equal quarters for formality, not friendship,” Kat said.

“And no bow on the ribbon because this is a first-round prize,” Gabriel added.

The operator smiled. “Starfleet cultural exchange classes have improved. Then you must also know that traditionally, if you open a good-fortune box at midnight, it predicts your future.”

Gabriel chose a box and slipped it into his pocket. “We like to stay educated. You ready, Kat?”

Kat was taking her time examining the identical boxes, but finally chose one using the same mysterious algorithm by which she’d chosen the horn for her lasso. Most likely it was sheer randomness; both of them were nothing if not pragmatic when faced with ridiculous choices, and at least the worst consequence of this one would be a cheap and unappealing toy. “It’s probably not a giant pink teddy bear, but it’ll do,” she said.

“If we open it up at midnight and a giant pink teddy bear pops out, I’m coming back with you early just so I can hear what your crew has to say when you beam it up.”

“I’ll tell them I bought it as a present for my niece.”

“Do you even have a niece?”

“Shh.” She took his arm. “I’ve only got a few hours left. Let’s head back to the hotel, shall we?”

* * *

Gabriel liked to travel light. A duffel bag with a few treasured possessions, including a small sack of fortune cookies and most of a bottle of vintage Saurian brandy, some of which he’d poured for himself and Kat. What his room lacked in size it made up for with its view over the boulevard, where the snow still fell softly and the trees glowed in the moonlight.

Kat sat at the opposite side of the loveseat, her knees curled up beside him. Inches from him in the same way they’d always held some distance between them, even if they’d inevitably close it before breaking apart again. She swirled the brandy in her glass and took a sip.

“Tell me about your first mission for the _Buran,_ ” she said.

“You heard about the Keloran plague? We’re headed there to resupply the locals with more vaccine and relieve the _Dava Newman_ ’s medical crew. And my new science officer says she’s got an idea for low-tech vaccine manufacturing the Kelorans can do on their own without violating their bioengineering taboos.”

“A worthy mission.”

“It feels like the right start, healing people who need our help. After that, who knows? All I know is I’m ready. I’ve been ready. And in” – he checked the clock by the bed – “fourteen hours, I’ll be on my way.”

“Not that you’re counting.”

“Not that I’m counting.” He downed the rest of his brandy. Less like cough syrup in this vintage, and more like hazelnuts and whiskey. It had been a fine year. “But speaking of counting ... it’s nearly midnight. Don’t you want to know your future?”

“Right.” She laughed. “As if that little blue box holds everything I need to know.”

“It might inflate into that giant pink teddy bear you were hoping for.”

“It might,” she acknowledged, “but I doubt it. Anyway, you go first. Consider it the first step on your new adventure.”

“So poetic. I think that brandy’s getting to you.” Gabriel slipped the ribbon off his box and removed the top. Below a layer of cotton batting was a sparkly blue plastic yo-yo, holographic chips shimmering in the lamplight from the window.

Gabriel slipped a finger inside the yo-yo’s loop, snapped the toy to the ground. It spun and wound its way back up to his hand.

“Some things never go out of style.” He tossed the yo-yo again. “I used to know how to do tricks with these. Been a while, though. I’m out of practice.”

“I’m not sure I like what that says about your future.”

“What? That I’ve got esoteric knowledge and you never know when it’ll come in handy? That I’m resilient and can bounce back from anything? Or maybe I’m about to start a journey” – he snapped the yo-yo from an open palm and let it sleep perilously close to Kat’s feet for a moment before whipping it back into his hand – “and I’ll be gone for a good long while. But I _will_ be back. Take your pick, Kat.”

“Give me that.” Kat reached for the yo-yo. “You’re a menace with that thing.”

Gabriel snatched it out of her grasp. “Get your own prize, Kat. Besides, you’ve obviously missed the point: I’ve got a bright future ahead of me as a yo-yo champion.”

“Of course you do.” Another nearly audible eyeroll as she pulled her present onto her lap. Off with the ribbon, opening the top, pulling out the same cotton batting, extracting ... a ring with a dark gray, opalescent stone set in a braided aluminum bezel. “My God. I haven’t seen one of these since I was a little kid, and they were antiques then.”

“What is it?”

Kat slipped it on her finger. The stone swirled with a green curlicue, then returned to gray. “It’s a mood ring,” she said. “Popular in the 1970s. It’s just a thermochromic liquid crystal that supposedly changes color to reveal your mood.”

She flexed her hand, admiring the ring, a faint smile on her face. Of the two of them, Gabriel had been the stronger history student, but memory was always more powerful than history alone. What drew Kat now was surely not knowing a nearly 250-year-old type of toy still existed to amuse people; it was remembering her own experience with it. 

Gabriel pushed Kat’s hair back from her face. Her cheek was soft and warm. They had four hours left together. More than enough time for anything they wanted, even if it was just sitting on this loveseat in this hotel room waiting for false dawn.

“Here, you try it,” Kat said, slipping it on his ring finger. “Give it a minute to warm up.”

She held his hand while they waited, her fingers cool against his palm. He covered them with his other hand to warm them.

He was supposed to be looking at the ring. But Kat’s eyes were trained on his, and the ring ... well, peripheral vision would do.

“Red,” he said. “Purple. Mostly gray. What do those mean?”

“The key is in Ventraki,” said Kat. “I can’t read it.”

“Don’t worry,” Gabriel said, leaning in to kiss her. “I think I can guess.”

* * *

Kat’s side of the bed had been cold since 0400 hours. When she’d left, a quiet kiss on Gabriel’s shoulderblade her only goodbye, he’d pretended to be asleep to spare her the awkwardness of a real farewell. Eventually, after a detailed run-through in his head of three new possibilities for rigging carnival games, he’d fallen back to sleep and dreamt of nothing he could remember save for the unsettling sensation that he had somehow forgotten to pack his captain’s pips.

Six hours left now. Plenty of time for coffee and a cream-filled pastry from the local café, followed by a walk down to the riverbank to watch ice skaters gliding along the frozen edge of the shore, or a stroll through the shopping district to find a few last-minute souvenirs. _I Came to Ventrakis IV and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt Neatly Packed in a Box,_ maybe. Better yet, one in Kat’s size, worth it just to see the expression on her face when he gave it to her.

But six hours was also more than enough time to go over the last of the crew logs he’d wanted to review, memorize the hidden tics of each of his new officers, consider the different motivation and support strategies he was going to need for each one of them. Double-check that the pips were still in the gold box he’d received from Admiral Terral; re-confirm that he’d packed his bottle of brandy and his grandfather’s antique shaving kit.

Feet on the floor now, ready to go. Yes. Six hours was nothing when you thought about it, and he tapped the ordering pad beside his bed, requested a pot of black coffee and a plate of eggs and pastries. There was time for a shower before room service arrived, and probably even time to dive into Chief Medical Officer Aahrn’s logs. Gabriel rose and padded towards the bathroom, pausing only when a shiny object from the shadows caught his eye.

It was the yo-yo, probably having attempted a roll to freedom while he and Kat had been fooling around on the couch. Gabriel picked it up, snapped it to the floor, let it sleep and rock its way halfway back up before snapping it down and all the way back up again.

Okay, a few minutes remembering all the tricks he’d known so very long ago. But then a shower, and breakfast, and the logs.

And the _Buran,_ and everything that would come afterwards.


End file.
